


How to Trick a Bad Day

by TrickyJerseyGirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Comfort, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Food, Gabriel is a Softie, Gabriel is a good boyfriend, Gabriel is sweet, Shopping, bad day, fluffy fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-11-18 16:46:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11294685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrickyJerseyGirl/pseuds/TrickyJerseyGirl
Summary: Tia has had a terrible day. Gabriel tries to fix it.





	How to Trick a Bad Day

**Author's Note:**

> This stand-alone story is part of my established Gabriel/Tia series of works.

He heard things banging around in the kitchen as soon as he appeared in the living room. That doesn’t sound good, he thought.

She walked into the living room a second later, saw him, started, and dropped the very large glass of wine in her hand. Glass shattered and red wine splattered everywhere. “Goddamnit, Gabriel!” she shouted. “I have told you to use the damn door so I can hear you come in! Now I have no wine and broken goddamn glass everywhere.”

He snapped his fingers, instantly clearing up the mess and manifesting a brand new glass of wine, this time safely on the coffee table. He walked slowly toward her, because it was never a good idea to get too close too quick when she was angry. “You wanna tell me what’s wrong, babe?” he asked. 

She ran a hand roughly through her hair. “This fucking day,” she began. “Just fuckery after fuckery after fuckery. You were gone all day and not answering your phone, AGAIN. The basement flooded. Two of the attic windows are cracked and while I was trying to fix it, I found a goddamn hornet nest.” She held up her arm. There were half a dozen angry red welts on it. “I nearly choked to death on the bug spray and when I finally killed them all and knocked down the nest, I almost fell off the ladder on my way to the trash can, where I almost got bit by a raccoon. My favorite lunch place is closed for renovations and I didn’t know that until I drove down there behind every fucking tourist in the French Quarter, so I had no lunch and I had to drive back behind all the same assholes in different cars. I was just getting ready to relax with a nice bottle of wine when you teleported in and scared the hell out of me. I am done with this day, Gabriel. Done.”

He reached out a hand and healed her arm first, then gently placed his hands on her shoulders. He chose his words carefully, not wanting to set off Mount Tia-suvius by accident. “I told you when I left this morning that my phone wasn’t going to have signal three miles underneath the earth where I had to dig up an artifact for TweedleDean and TweedleSam. I can fix the basement, and the windows, and I asked you to please not go back into the attic after what happened last time.” She’d nearly fallen through the floor when walking across the unfinished beams, and Gabriel had to heal a badly sprained ankle. Tia never got hurt on hunts, or almost never, but ever since she had insisted they buy a beautiful but desperately in need of repair Victorian in the Treme district, he felt like he was forever fixing cuts, bruises, abrasions, and once, memorably, a broken cheekbone when she “found” the old well on the property by falling into it and hitting her face on the rock wall on her way down. It was driving him nuts, but the the smile on her face and the sense of accomplishment when she got things done was so worth it, as was how much it turned her on when he picked up tools to fix something rather than just snapping his fingers. He was getting pretty good with a hammer and a handsaw, if he did say so himself.. 

She fixed him with a look. “You really wanna give me a list of shit you told me not to do right now, archangel?”

“I absolutely do not,” he said, rubbing her upper arms. “What I want to do is sit you down on this couch,” -- he did so, and talked through everything else he wanted to do as he did it -- “put your feet up, hand you your wine, and ask you to please, please, just sit here and relax “ --a quick fingersnap and her favorite music filled the house -- “and I will be back in 15 minutes, and my phone will be on the entire time. Okay?”

“Are you patronizing me, Gabriel?” She was still very, very cranky.

“Not a bit, Gigi. I know better.” He did. Boy oh boy, he did. “I’m teleporting out and in because my hands are going to be full. Do you want me to give you poke beforehand?” He meant a gentle prod to her mind, to let her know he was coming back. She didn’t like it much and they rarely did it, but sometimes it was helpful.

“Change the song,” she suggested. “Then I’ll know you’re on your way.”

“Done.” He kissed her forehead. “Back in flash, lovely.”

He got everything he wanted in closer to ten minutes, and, true to his word, he changed the music in the house to signal her that he was coming home. The song was “You Make Me Feel Brand New,” a 70s R&B ballad he knew she loved. 

When he appeared in the living room, she looked far more relaxed and most of the wine was gone. “I brought a few things,” he said, balancing packages in both arms. 

“I can see that,” she said. 

He began taking things out of bags and setting them on the coffee table. “Three dozen of the freshest oysters possible, from the Pacific Northwest, British Columbia, and your favorite kumamotos, plus all the fixings. Two bottles of French muscadet. A freshly-made tres leches cake for dessert. And this.” He handed her a small package. “Which I would like you to change into while I set everything up.”

“There had better not be some atrocious, cheap-ass, tramp lingerie in here or so help me, I will…” She stopped once she opened the package, which contained a very fine silk set of lounging pajamas in her favorite shade of purple. She looked at him. “You think you are so damn smooth.”

He smiled and winked. “Smooth as magnolia petals in spring, gorgeous girl.” He’d said that to her on their first date. 

She rolled her eyes, but smiled. “Trying to charm my panties into your pocket again?”

“Like I need to try,” he scoffed. “Go. Change.”

She walked out of the room and tossed back over her shoulder, “Those oysters better be perfect.”

He sat on the floor and busied himself. “Uh-huh, I love you, too, sweetcheeks. Pajamas, please.”

She came back into the living room a few minutes later, and he gave a low wolf-whistle at the sight. “Damn, I’m good,” he said. 

“Are they new?” she asked as she made herself comfortable on the couch. “They feel new.”

He ran a hand up her silk-clad thigh. “I might have popped back to a Saks sale in 1945. But everything else is from now.”

“Points for authenticity,” she said, leaning down to kiss him. “Lights?”

“As the lady commands.” He snapped his fingers, shutting off everything electric except the music. A fire appeared in the marble fireplace they’d only recently been able to use again, since it was January and even in New Orleans, the nights had a chill. Candles and hurricane lamps lit throughout the room, and he rubbed her leg again. “Good call, Geeg. Silk looks best by firelight.”

“What about me?” she mock-pouted.

He got up from the floor to sit beside her, and tucked an errant lock of her long hair behind her ear. “Firelight, candlelight, moonlight, sunlight, hell, even fluorescent light. You are never anything less than gorgeous to me.” He kissed her and grinned. “But you are gorgeous and cranky when you are hungry, so allow me, mademoiselle.”

“I have not been mean to you once today,” she said. 

“You yelled at me when I came home!” he said.

“You scared me,” she responded. 

He laughed as he dribbled mignonette on an oyster and handed it to her. “When I met you, you were trying to stab a succubus in the head with a hypodermic. Last week, you shoved a pitchfork into a gunch that made the mistake of wandering into the backyard and three days ago you exorcised a fifolet from that new B&B on Lake Ponchartrain. But I scared you. Ok, Geeg. Whatever you say.”

She slurped back the oyster and made a satisfied sound, immediately holding her hand out for more. “Exorcising that fifolet got us that antique four-poster you’re so fond of, and that wrought iron fireplace grate over there.”

“My point, hot stuff,” he said, now handing over a plate of tiny plump kumamotos with fresh grated wasabi and citrus ponzu. “Is that you are a badass bitch.”

“Damn right,” she said. “Are you having any of these?”

“I’m waiting for dessert,” he said with a sly smile.

She cocked an eyebrow at him. “Is that why you’re feeding me all these oysters?”

“Damn right.”


End file.
